


Summer Day

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurie and Gyp go rambling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Day

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally Posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 18/07/2010  
>  **Dedication:** for my_cnnr, who also rescued a bird.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don’t own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes:** Earlier versions of this story were written for week four of the Brigit’s Flame May 2010 Challenge (prompt: temptation), and the July 2010 Mini-Contest (prompt: independence).   
> **Acknowledgements:** Many thanks to my sister greerwatson, thorarosebird, and incommune. who provided editing comments for earlier drafts.

Laurie kicked the door open on his way in from church. 

“Laurie – really!” admonished his mother. 

“Sorry.” 

He had the grace to look shamefaced, as he hung up his damp jacket, and went to wash his hands, before setting the table for lunch. His mother served. The lamb hotpot had been left to cook slowly while they were at service. The dish was not his favourite; and he ate sparingly, before excusing himself and retreating to his room. He had hoped to visit his friend Simon this afternoon; but he was busy with something else. A long dull afternoon stretched before him. He chose from the limited selection of books available, all of which had been read before, kicked off his shoes, and lay on the bed. Gyp clambered up beside him. He wasn’t supposed to be upstairs, let alone on the bed; and Laurie relished this minor rebellion. 

Sunshine breaking through the clouds mid-afternoon tempted Laurie out. They had had nothing but rain for five days; the prediction was for another downpour later today, and he could see clouds skating cross the sky from the west. But for now it was dry, so he ignored them. At last there was freedom! School had broken up last week. It was unbearable to be stuck in the house when the great outdoors beckoned. He and Gyp practically flew downstairs.

Laurie put four cold sausages left over from breakfast into a couple of slices of bread, wrapped them in some wax paper and shoved them into his pocket along with a couple of apples. Next he filled a bottle with water. Then he put a lead on Gyp, pulled his bicycle out from the shed at the bottom of the garden, and went. His mother paused a moment in her gardening to call dire warnings after him, but he was having none of them.

He cycled sedately through the village, ringing his bell politely to warn pedestrians as he passed. Gyp trotted beside him, his lead looped over the handlebars. It wasn’t easy keeping an eye on the dog while he steered the bicycle. Gyp had a tendency to wander off to the sides of the path whenever he smelled something interesting. But Laurie was growing adept at managing both dog and bicycle. Old Mrs Ramsay was sitting under the oak tree in her front garden, cat on lap. She gave him her usual thin smile and inclined her head as he passed her house. He waved a brief greeting as he passed. 

In just a few minutes he reached the edge of the village high street. Neat cottages gave way to farmers' fields edged with dry-stone walls. A few yards further he turned left down a dirt track which he followed for a few minutes before stopping at a stile. He lifted the bicycle over, then helped Gyp. The dog had grown fast; he was no longer the little puppy Laurie had been given for his birthday six weeks before. But he still had some growing to do, and hadn’t quite learned how to coordinate all four paws so he could climb over what was, after all, quite a steep boundary. 

Once beyond the barrier, Laurie let the terrier off the lead. He was off like a shot, jumping and bounding ahead. He was almost out of sight by the time Laurie coiled the lead, and set off again. He pedalled swiftly to catch up, following the excited barking that floated back on the air. The footpath wended its way through a coppice of beech trees and by fields of corn, still green and half-grown. Wild lupins, run to seed, grew at the grassy verges, interspersed with scarlet poppies that waved in the light breeze. A blackbird, busy pulling a worm from the ground, started upwards in fright as Laurie crashed through on his bicycle. 

The path ended by a small shallow pond. The near side was marshy and full of bullrushes. Laurie got off the bicycle and propped it against a rowan tree before carefully walking round to the other side, where he sat near some bramble bushes. Their branches promised a good crop this year, but the fruit had not yet ripened. He would have to come back in late summer for that. 

The sun had disappeared behind cloud again; but he didn’t care, no more than Gyp did. (He was busy splashing after a family of ducks that had decided to nest in the rushes this year.) “Here, boy!” Laurie called to his dog, who bounded across, jumped out of the pond and shook himself vigorously, spraying mud and water over his master, before flopping down beside him. They shared sausage sandwiches before Laurie unlaced his shoes and stretched out for a rest, one arm round Gyp. Damp and somewhat smelly his dog might be; he too was somewhat muddy. It didn’t matter. This was bliss.

He woke to the sound of scolding. Well, it sounded like that, anyway. He’d heard it often enough from his own mother to know that tone, even if it wasn’t really directed at him this time. Laurie sat up and twisted round to spot the mother blackbird. There she was – in the hedge. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch your baby, wherever he is.” Laurie reassured the anxious parent as he collected his things. He looked again, but couldn’t spot the fledgling. He must be somewhere in the undergrowth, trying his wings, practicing independence. 

“Come on Gyp! Let’s see if we can’t make the stone circle before we head back home.” He left his bicycle propped against the tree. The next bit was too narrow and stony to ride it. Once again Gyp led the way, though it wasn’t hard to keep him in sight as the puppy paused frequently to sniff, and dig, and (occasionally) cock his leg. As he climbed steadily higher, the shrubbery and low trees edging the field gave way to open rolling hills, pierced with outcroppings of white limestone, until, finally, he came to a wide flat rock at the edge of a tiny brook, that overlooked the valley beyond. In the distance he could see herds of sheep. 

This was Simon’s family farm. He had climbed above the pasture and tilled fields to the moor. It was still a little early in the year for the flock to move up to graze, though that wouldn’t be long coming. Simon would be freer after that, and they could go adventuring together. But in the meantime, Laurie was on his own. An insistent paw on his leg and a wet nose pressed to his hand reminded Laurie otherwise. He smiled at the puppy, and stroked the damp muzzle, before saying “Ready to go on again, boy?”

There was no real path now; but he didn’t really need one, as his goal was clear to see. A small stone circle provided a focal point to the landscape. It was quite insignificant really, just eight large roughly shaped rocks standing about shoulder-high amidst the grass, plus two tipped over on their sides. Locals knew of it; no one else – or if they knew, placed no import in it. In school this year his class had been shown a picture of Stonehenge; and, when he’d asked his mother, she’d shown him a picture of a horse carved in the side of a hill, somewhere down south. He’d asked her why they’d done it all those years ago, but she hadn’t known. It was just something pagans did, she’d explained, before they became Christian and civilised and knew better. Laurie supposed no one would think this circle anything very special, in comparison with _those._ But it was here, and they were there, and that was that. He sat for a time resting against one of those stones, Gyp’s head heavy on his lap, watching the clouds gather overhead. They were in for another storm tonight and he’d best get back. Otherwise his mother would worry. Besides, it would be teatime soon, and he’d worked up quite an appetite. 

The descent took considerably less time than the climb, even with Gyp’s small digressions whenever he smelled something interesting. Laurie picked up his bicycle from where he’d left it beside the pond and retraced the path down to the stone wall that marked the edge where field met lane. The lead was carefully placed back on Gyp’s collar before he was lifted over, and its end looped over a stone in the wall (so he wouldn’t wander). Then Laurie bent to the awkward task of lifting the bicycle back over the wall again, before he climbed across himself. He unlooped Gyp’s lead and gave a gentle tug. His dog was deep in the undergrowth, tail wagging furiously. Obviously he had found something while he’d been waiting for his master to join him. Laurie tugged again, and, when there was no response to this signal, called. Gyp’s tail wagged even more furiously, but he did not budge. 

“What have you found, boy?” Laurie knelt by the dog and pulled aside the foliage so he could see. Way clear, Gyp surged forward , the lead straining and eager paws scrabbling as he tried to get closer. He pushed his nose out, then yelped, and backed off a step or two, revealing a tiny bird, sitting forlorn on the ground, claw raised. A tiny scratch on Gyp’s nose told the tale. “It must have been blown down in the storm last night. No–” Laurie pushed his puppy back. “You stay away. He doesn’t need _your_ help.” Firmly he pulled Gyp well back, tied his lead to the bicycle handle, and set it a few steps away. “Stay,” he ordered sternly, before he turned back. 

Impulsively, Laurie stripped off his shirt (it was an old one anyway), and dropped it gently over the top of the bird, using it to scoop up the small frightened creature. It took all his ingenuity and balance to manage with the bird held carefully in front of him and Gyp beside him as he bicycled back toward the village. He hesitated briefly at its edge. His mother would exclaim, when she heard he’d seen about in just his undershirt, but there was no help for it. He whisked past old Mrs Ramsay’s house. She had gone in, but her cat still lurked by the garden gate, and yowled as he passed. (Perhaps she could tell what he carried, though more likely she was simply expressing feline disdain for his dog.) 

A few doors from his own home, Laurie halted outside the village shopkeeper’s cottage. The blinds were pulled down in the bay window and a closed sign showed on the door. It _was_ Sunday, after all. Nonetheless he carefully dismounted and propped his bicycle against the wall. Once again, Gyp was left tied to the handlebars and adjured to stay. This time, though, Laurie walked down the side of a building into the back garden. 

“Auntie Pat, look what Gyp found! It must have fallen from its nest in last night’s storm.” Laurie burst out as soon as he rounded the corner of the house and saw the shopkeeper. She was sitting in a wicker chair on a small porch, sipping a cup of tea. Miss Goodwin beamed her welcome. All the local children, regardless of relationship, called her “Auntie” when they were little. At twelve, and feeling ever more grown up, in recent months Laurie had been standing very much on his dignity; but in his excitement he reverted to the speech of yesteryear. 

“See!” Laurie couched down and gingerly unwrapped the bundle, revealing the bedraggled fledgling. 

“What have we here?” Miss Goodwin set her cup to one side, unfolded her spectacles, and placed them on her head, before she reached out to the bird, which she took onto her capacious lap. “Hello, little fellow....” She was rewarded with a faint squeaking sound. “I think he must be rather hungry, Laurie.” 

“Will he be all right? He didn’t break anything in the storm, did he?” 

“It wasn’t the storm did this to him, Laurie,” explained Miss Goodwin, “it was probably a cuckoo.”

“Cuckoo?”

“He’s a pipit, Laurie, and my guess is he was pushed out of his nest after a cuckoo’s egg hatched in it. This little chap must have hatched several days earlier or he’d never have survived. His brothers and sisters clearly didn’t; probably they were slightly less developed than him. And, of course, it helped that he didn’t have far to fall. They nest close to the ground, you know.” Laurie hadn’t known; he stored the information away for future reference. “Never mind, my lovely,” she said, clearly talking to the frightened bird. “I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

Carefully she got up, holding the bird in her apron, and walked to the bottom of her garden which sported an array of cages and hutches of one sort or another. She was well-known locally for rescuing distressed wildlife, and rarely was without some wounded creature or other she was nursing back to health in her garden. Deftly she transferred the bird from her apron to a small cage. Laurie found himself given a tiny container to hold, while Miss Goodwin unscrewed a much larger canister of grubs and spooned a few into it. White and fat and squirming, they looked disgusting and he said as much. 

“To us, maybe, but to him they’ll be as nice as roast beef.” She smiled as she plucked the tiny feeding dish from his hand and pushed it into the bird cage. Then, door secured, she returned to her chair. Laurie’s shirt lay crumpled and discarded on the ground nearby. She bent and picked it up, shaking out the folds, and brushing off dust, before she handed it to the boy. 

“Dear, dear, look at the state of it. Your mother won’t be pleased.” 

“She won’t mind, not when I tell her why.” 

Miss Goodwin looked at the confident young man standing before her in undershirt and trousers. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and a leaf in his hair. His shoes were scuffed, his trousers dirty, and there was a streak of mud on his hand. Lucy Odell was the most proper woman she had ever met; but she supposed she could leave it to her son to know her better. Certainly Lucy had raised the boy to be compassionate; his character had to have come from somewhere. 

“You’d best be going. It’s teatime and your mother will be wondering where you are.” 

“Thank you for your help, Auntie Pat.” 

She nodded goodbye as his quick strides took him back to the high street and Gyp, who yelped excitedly as he spotted Laurie. “Down, Gyp! I wasn’t gone _that_ long.” Laurie shoved his arms through his shirt sleeves, hastily buttoned the front, and tucked it down his trousers, before setting off down the street once more. He knew he was probably in for a scolding when he got in, but he didn’t care. He was twelve now; he had finished prep school. In September he would be off to public school. Just last month hadn’t Great Uncle Edward said he was the man of the family now? Hadn’t he rescued the fledgling from certain death? He squared his shoulders with pride. After a gloomy start, it had turned out to be a glorious day.


End file.
